Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 59287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59287 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
I held back a groan and reached in the backseat for my purse, but it wasn’t there. I gasped and felt under the seat, but it wasn’t there either.
Oh my god… I’d been too focused on escaping my apartment that I forgot to grab it.
“Officer,” I said, trying to stay calm, “I forgot my purse at home.”
“Interesting.” He lifted his shades, revealing a stern set of green eyes. “Do you have any form of identification on you?”
“I have some receipts in my glovebox.”
“Do they have your picture on them?”
“No, but…My signature is very distinct.”
He gave me a blank stare.
“I can also phone a friend,” I said. “Or I can call my mom.”
“That’s not how this works.” He shook his head. “What’s your date of birth and social?”
“My social?”
“Yes, your social, Miss. As in your social security number.”
“I can show you my Instagram page.” I picked up my phone. “I just posted on it last night.”
“My demands of what I need from you were very clear…”
“I have Facebook as well,” I said. “Oh, and I can ask my roommate to take a picture of my license and text it to me in like five minutes if you’re willing to wait.”
He pulled a notepad from his pocket, looking as if he wasn’t listening to a single word I was saying.
“I swear I’m not trying to be difficult,” I said. “I just—I watch a lot of true crime and giving out social security numbers always leads to someone being scammed.”
“You think a police officer is going to scam you?” he asked. “With his body camera rolling?”
“Dirty cops are a real thing, you know…”
“Ma’am—” He rolled his eyes and clicked his pen. “Give me your goddamn date of birth and your social. Now.”
“555-09-0978” I gave up the fight.
“Thank you. I’ll be right back.”
I watched him return to his car through my rearview mirror, and I tried to mentally calculate just how many extra hours at work this ticket would cost me.
Four hours at each job, minimum…Maybe six?
The officer slammed the door to his car shut and strolled back to my driver’s side window.
“Miss Spencer,” he said, “Are you aware that there’s a bench warrant out for your arrest?”
“A what?”
“A bench warrant from three months ago,” he said. “You failed to report to court on a series of violations.”
What violations?
“Um, no…” I shook my head. “You must have me confused with another Olivia Spencer.”
“So, you’re not the same Olivia Spencer with six outstanding parking tickets?”
“Uh…” It was actually eight, but I wasn’t going to admit to that.
“I need you to grab your personal belongings and step out of the vehicle, Miss Spencer.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re officially under arrest.”
“For what?”
“You have the right to remain silent.” He pulled a set of handcuffs from his belt loop. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney…”
His words went over my head, and I was tempted to run away in hopes of ending what had to be a nightmare.
“I don’t understand,” I said, shaking my head. “What exactly did I do?”
“I’ll explain it on the drive to the jail.” He opened my door. “Don’t make this any more difficult than it needs to be.”
Jail? I froze, completely stunned by what was happening.
“I’m legally required to take you into custody,” he said, as if he could read my mind. “It’s still early morning, so with luck, you can get through central booking and see a judge for your arraignment by lunch.”
“But I’m not a criminal…”
“Right now, technically you are.” He motioned for me to step out. “Grab your things.”
My heart raced as I turned off the engine and pulled out the keys. I grabbed my phone and joined the officer in the rain.
“Turn around so I can place you in handcuffs,” he said.
“I’m not going to run.” I could barely hear myself. “I swear.”
“You’d be surprised how many times I hear that.” He gently spun me around, and the next thing I felt was cold metal clamping down on my wrists.
“Alright, step toward my patrol car, please.”
“Wait a minute.” I looked over my shoulder. “What happens to my car?”
“Nothing to worry about.” He shrugged. “It’ll be towed to the impound lot and you can pay to get it out.”
“Okay, please wait.” I stopped walking and turned around to face him. “Can you not do this?”
“Not do my job?”
“Not arrest me for traffic tickets.” I pleaded. “Like, they’re just meter maids and parking stuff, right?”
“No.” He shook his head. “Turn around and keep walking.”
“What about a trade?” I asked, trying one last time. “I’m a really good writer and I can—”
“If you don’t turn around right now and start walking to my car, I’m going to add ‘resisting arrest’ to your charges.”
I immediately turned around.
“Save whatever you have to say for the judge,” he said. “He’s the one who can give you mercy.”