Just as the words leave her mouth, the cop’s voice blares from their loudspeaker, naming my make and model and demanding I pull over. “Okay, scratch that,” she says, her tone pitching with fear. I glance at her, noticing how she clenches her thighs again, her nipples hardening beneath her long-sleeved shirt. Fright is palpable on her face, sweat beading alongside her hairline.
Why is she like this
