Shaking inside, she got out of the car. Farman shined his flashlight in her eyes.

“You called Child Protective Services on me,” he said. “You filed a report.”

“It doesn’t mean much now,” Anne said, “in view of what happened today.”

“That goes in my record,” he said. “You embarrassed me and put something in my record that could affect my chances at promotion.”

Anne didn’t know what to say. Are you delusional? seemed a poor choice. His wife was missing. His son had attempted murder. He was worried about a notation on his record impacting his career prospects.

“You embarrassed me,” he said. “Now I embarrass you. Stand with your arms straight out at your sides. How will a DUI charge go over at school, Miss Navarre?”

“I’m not intoxicated.”

“Touch the tip of your nose with your left finger.”

As she did, he reached out and shoved her sideways so hard she stumbled.

“That doesn’t look good,” Farman said. “Putting one foot directly in front the other, I want you to walk in a straight line away from me.”

“You’ve had your fun, Deputy,” Anne said, attempting to maintain some kind of control over the situation. “You won’t get a positive breathalyzer test from me. If you set out to frighten me, you’ve succeeded.”

He kept the light in her eyes so she couldn’t see, but there was nothing wrong with her hearing. She heard a gun being cocked.

“Don’t worry about that breathalyzer,” he said. “I’ve been drinking enough for both of us. You’ll have a positive reading. Now walk. Back toward my car.”

The shaking wasn’t just on the inside now. She was genuinely scared. There was no one on the street. They were in the middle of the block—where the corner streetlights didn’t quite reach.

He was holding a gun on her.

“Walk!”

She put one foot in front of the other. As she went to take the second step, Farman tripped her from behind and she fell to the pavement, scraping her hands as she tried to break her fall.

A car turned the corner from Via Colinas and the headlights splashed over her. Anne looked up at it, putting every bit of the fear she was feeling into her expression.

Please stop.

“It’s Miss Navarre!” Tommy called out.

His father pulled to the curb in front of her Volkswagen.

“Tommy, stay in the car.”

“But Dad!”

“Stay in the car!”

Anne scraped herself up off the pavement.

Farman turned away. “Sir, stay in your vehicle.”

“What’s going on here?”

Peter Crane. Relief ran through Anne like water.

“You’re interfering in a traffic stop,” Farman said. “This woman is intoxicated.”

“No, she isn’t. My son and I just had dinner with her. I can vouch for her. She drank a soda.” He looked past Farman. “Are you all right, Miss Navarre?”