When he came back, he didn’t go to Sarah’s window.
He came to mine.
“Sir, step out of the car for a second.”
I looked at Sarah. She frowned but didn’t say anything.
I stepped out. Heat off the asphalt. Traffic hissing by. The trooper took me behind the car, just far enough that she couldn’t hear.
Then he looked me dead in the face and said, “Do not go home tonight. Go somewhere safe. A hotel. A friend’s house. Anywhere she doesn’t know about.”
I stared at him. “What?”
His face went hard. “Listen carefully.”
“Why? What did you find?”
He hesitated. That scared me more than if he’d barked.
“I can’t explain it here,” he said. “But it’s bad. Very bad.”
Then he slipped a folded piece of paper into my hand.
“Read it when you’re alone. And be careful who you trust.”
I looked back at the car.
Sarah sat behind the wheel, one hand on it, the other brushing hair behind her ear. She looked normal. Calm. Familiar.
The trooper walked back, handed her license over, gave a standard warning, and sent us on our way.
No drama. No sirens. No clue to anyone passing that he had just cracked my life open on the side of a highway.
We got back on the road.
Sarah was quiet after that. Too quiet. She checked the mirror too often. Her hands stayed tight on the wheel.
“You okay?” I asked.
She smiled. “Fine.”
The smile landed nowhere.
