Pieces of Us (Confessions of the Heart, #3)(24)

The white car in front of me swerved in and out of the lane, flying by two cars, not giving a fuck that he might be putting someone in danger.

Nothing I hated more than that.

My eyes narrowed, and my heart thudded harder. Was this asshole trying to outrun me? With my siren going, the two cars pulled off to the side to let me by, and I got right up on the car’s tail.

Could tell he was thinking about it. Itching to push his car as fast as it would go.

Run.

I edged an inch closer, letting him know I’d be all too happy to chase him down.

Finally, he flipped on his signal, put on his brakes, and pulled off to the side of the road. I came up right behind him, adrenaline a thunder in my veins.

I’d been in this line of work long enough to smell the stench of trouble from a hundred miles away. And it was just emanating from this asshole.

Actually, four of them. Could see the car was filled, two in the front and two in the back.

Unease stirred, and I waited until the plates read clean, then stepped out of my truck into the overbearing heat. Sweat instantly slicked my flesh, and my guts twisted up in a sick sort of anticipation, at the ready for anything.

Was wearing my typical uniform—jeans and a tee and boots and my gun strapped to my side.

Never mattered if I was on duty or not. I was ready to go.

Could almost see the four kids sitting in the car gettin’ antsy over that shit, looking in the mirrors, squirrelling in their seats, anxiety coming from that white metal like it’d been painted with it.

If I didn’t already know I had a prick on my hands, he only sealed the deal when I got up to the side of the car and he still had his window rolled up. With the heel of my fist, I banged on it.

Reluctantly, he finally rolled it down, arrogance coming out of the inside as thick as the heatwaves sagging in the sky. My gaze swept the car, taking in the four guys that I pegged at around twenty. They weren’t dressed much different than any other guy I’d come across on the streets.

It was what was underneath those layers that got to me. Something sleazy oozing from their skin that cued me in that they were up to no good.

“Problem, officer?” The driver’s tone dripped with sarcasm, brow lifting like it was me with the issue rather than the other way around.

Had half an inclination to reach through the window and take him by the collar. Let him know exactly what the problem was. But I played by the books as best as I could, and this punk wasn’t even close to being worth my ass getting dragged into the sergeant’s office.

“Considering you were doing sixty in a thirty and blew through a stop sign, I’d say there is.”

He scoffed out a laugh. “Sixty? I think your radar must be off. Wasn’t doin’ more than . . . thirty. Max. You can ask my friends.” He almost laughed when he said it, glancing in the rear-view mirror at the two guys in the back, sketch written all over them, carload of twitchy motherfuckers with their knees bouncing a million miles a minute.

“Yeah, no chance were we going any faster than that,” one of the guys in the back spouted, head bobbing so fast I wasn’t sure how it didn’t snap off.

“That so?” I returned, wondering if they actually thought that was reason enough for me to let them go.

“That’s so.” It was nothing but a sneer from the driver.

“Not what my radar said.”

My head swiveled as I leaned closer, taking in the interior of the car, hunting for anything that might give me a reason to search it.

Gut telling me they were dirty.

Interior was clean, no bags or paraphernalia sitting out. Nothing that should raise any suspicion that this was anything more than a normal traffic stop.

“Where you coming from?” I asked, voice low and controlled, hinting at a growl.

“Pretty sure that’s none of your damned business.” This from the driver. I kinda wanted to pop him in the mouth.

A rough chuckle left me. “You been drinking? Doing drugs?”

“Do I look like I’ve been drinking?” Instantly, this kid was combative. Hated to say that I’d expected it, but I had, not surprised at all to find that feeling creeping up and taking hold.

“License and registration,” I grated low.

A disgruntled sigh left him. “That really necessary?”

“Wasn’t asking so I could find out the color of your eyes. Think you could do as you were asked, or do you need to step out of the car?”

Defiance blazed from his expression, but he finally reached across the console when he saw the cruiser marked with Police roll up behind my truck.

I kept my eyes focused as he opened the glovebox, watching for anything it might expose.

Nothing stuck out in there, either.

“Be right back. Don’t go anywhere, yeah?” I warned.

I went back to my SUV to do a search after he handed both over.

Zachary Keeton.

My computer screen populated with a slew of driving-related tickets, mostly speeding and two for reckless driving.

Shocker.

Only thing even remotely criminal was an arrest for misdemeanor theft.

No outstanding warrants.

Even though my gut was telling me these four were involved in something bigger, I was left with no option other than to write him a ticket. I moved back to his window and handed it to him.

“Drive safe.”