Page 18 of Redeeming Melodies

Something told me this wasn't going to be just another routine traffic stop. In Oakwood Grove, nothing ever was quite that simple.

The expensive car sat on the shoulder like a predator taking a break - all sleek lines and barely contained power. Must've cost more than I made in three years. We didn't see many vehicles like this in town; most expensive cars around here were trucks owned by the ranch hands, worn but well-maintained. This thing looked like it had rolled straight off a showroom floor.

My flashlight beam caught the license plates - out of state, naturally. Some city slicker probably thought our town roads were his personal playground. The engine ticked as it cooled, still hot from whatever speed he'd been pushing before my lights caught him.

"Dispatch, I've got the vehicle stopped on Old Mill Road," I radioed, more out of habit than necessity. Like anything happening in Oakwood Grove stayed private for long.

The driver's silhouette showed through the tinted windows - head high, shoulders squared. Not the usual tourist posture of apologetic shrinking. This guy had backbone, or maybe just an attitude problem. Either way, something about him set my instincts humming.

As I approached, details emerged through the glass - ginger hair that probably cost more to style than my whole uniform, an expensive watch catching my flashlight beam. But it was his eyesthat caught me off guard - green and sharp as broken bottles, staring straight ahead like he was still on whatever mission had brought him to our quiet corner of nowhere.

My knuckles rapped against the window, the sound harder than I'd intended. Authority was a language all its own out here, and I spoke it fluently. The window hummed down, releasing a wave of leather-scented air conditioning into the summer night.

"License and registration." I kept my voice level, professional. The same tone I used for everyone.

He turned those green eyes on me, and fuck if there wasn't something familiar about them. Not like I'd seen him before, but like I recognized the look in them - defiance masking something raw underneath. Like looking in a mirror from years ago, back when I thought attitude could fix everything.

"Of course, officer." His voice carried that city polish, but there was steel under it. His movements were deliberate as he reached for his documents, nothing rushed or nervous about them. "Or should I say, Sheriff?"

My badge caught his dashboard lights, and I noticed his hand was bruised, knuckles scraped like he'd recently hit something harder than they were. "Sheriff Thompson," I confirmed, studying the license he handed over. "Mind telling me why you're treating our roads like a racetrack?"

A muscle twitched in his jaw, something dark flashing across his face. "Force of habit," he said, the words coming out more bitter than flip.

The name on the license said that his name was Elliot Blue.

"Mr. Blue." I let a hint of warning creep into my tone. "Oakwood Grove isn't your personal speedway. We've got kids and wildlife on these roads."

"I know." He scrubbed a hand through his hair, messing up that expensive styling. For a second, the polished facadecracked, showing something tired and honest underneath. "Look, I'm sorry. It's been a shit night, but that's no excuse."

The admission surprised me. Most people who are rich like him were used to getting their way. They'd be dropping hints about knowing the governor or their lawyer's number right about now. Instead, he just looked lost. Like a man who'd driven off his own map and wasn't sure he wanted to find his way back.

I knew that look. Seen it in my own mirror more times than I cared to count.

"First time in Oakwood Grove?" I asked, though I already knew the answer. A guy like him would've stood out in our town like a peacock in a chicken coop.

"Yeah." His eyes drifted to the town lights below us, something almost wistful in his expression. "Didn't even know it existed until tonight."

Neither of us mentioned why he was out here, what he was running from or toward. Sometimes silence said more than questions ever could.

Something about him got under my skin in a way I couldn't explain - maybe it was that defiant tilt of his chin, or the way his green eyes seemed to challenge every word out of my mouth. I'd dealt with plenty of arrogant outsiders before, but this was different. This guy radiated an energy that made my chest tight and my uniform feel too warm, despite the cool night air.

"Speed limit's clearly posted," I said, keeping my voice level despite the strange tension building. "Or do those signs not apply to fancy cars in your world?"

His head snapped up, anger flashing across his face. "Having fun playing traffic cop, Sheriff? Not much else going on in this town?"

Fuck, but he was irritating. Good-looking in that polished city way, sure, but irritating as hell. And why was I even noticing how he looked? Must be the late hour messing with my head.

"Small town," I replied coolly. "We take traffic safety seriously here. Especially when someone's trying to break the sound barrier on our roads."

"Right." His laugh held no humor. "Because this place has so much else going on? What's your usual excitement - catching kids toilet-papering houses?"

"At least our kids know better than to endanger lives with reckless driving." I stepped closer to his window, using my height to my advantage. "This isn't your personal racetrack, Mr. Blue. These are my streets, my people to protect."

"Your people?" He matched my intensity, leaning forward. "What makes them yours? That shiny badge? That air of small-town authority?"

The scent of his expensive cologne mixed with leather seats drifted up, making it harder to maintain my professional distance. Something sparked between us - anger, challenge, and something else I didn't want to examine too closely.

"What makes them mine is that I give a damn," I shot back. "Unlike some people who think they can just blow through town without caring who they might hurt."

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