Turning the Mustang around, I start toward home. Visibility is so poor I can barely see the streetlights along Main. The county has sent out snowplows, but there aren’t enough to keep up with the deluge. I’m two blocks from my house when I see the flash of police lights in my rearview mirror. At first I think it’s Pickles, wanting to speak with me about what happened back at the station.

That theory is dashed when I glance in my side mirror and see a sheriff’s office Suburban. Even in the heavily falling snow, I recognize Detrick’s silhouette when he gets out. For a crazy instant, I consider jamming the Mustang into gear and making a run for it, but I know fleeing will only make things worse. All I have to do is stay cool. After all, he doesn’t know I suspect him.

I had to relinquish my service revolver when I was fired, but I possess a concealed firearm license and own a nice little Kimber .45. Quickly, I snatch the firearm out of the console and drop it into my coat pocket.

Detrick taps on the driver’s window. I hit the down button. “What’s the problem?”

“Turn off the engine.”

“What?”

“Do it, Burkholder. Get out of the vehicle. Right now.”

“I haven’t done anything wrong.”

“You’ve been drinking. I smelled it back at the police station. I smell it now. Get the fuck out of the car.”

My heart begins to pound. I hadn’t expected this. A dozen responses scroll through my brain, but none of my options are good. “I’m not comfortable doing that, Detrick. I’ll follow you back to the station and submit to a Breathalyzer there.”

“Not comfortable?” He glares at me through the six-inch opening of the window. “Open the door. Now.”

I keep my voice level and unemotional. “Call another officer out here and I’ll comply.”

“Get out of that fucking vehicle!” he roars. “Now!”

I think of the horrific things this man might have done. I can’t imagine him believing he can get away with harming me. But there’s no way I’m getting out of my vehicle. I hit the automatic door locks.

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” he says.

“Get Pickles out here and I’ll comply.” Snow swirls in through the six-inch open window.

He leans closer. “You make me drag another cop out here and I’ll throw the book at you. DUI. Resisting. Whatever else I can think of. I’ll ruin you, Burkholder. You’ll be lucky to get a job as a parking lot attendant.”

I say nothing.

“Have it your way.” As if resigned, he straightens and reaches for the radio. “This is 247—”

The window shatters. Glass pelts me. I catch a glimpse of Detrick’s gloved fist as it flies toward my face. I see something dark in his hand. I ram the shifter into gear, but before I can stomp the gas, I hear the sickening crack! of the stun gun. Five hundred thousand volts of electricity jump from the electrodes into my neck.