She looked down at herself, then back up. “Yes.”
Daniels laughed louder this time. “Must be some wedding.”
The woman didn’t smile. “It is.”
Johnson flicked his eyes over her bike, lingering on the saddlebags. “Been drinking?”
“No.”
“Been using anything?” Johnson asked, already convinced the answer was yes.
“No.”
Johnson’s gum snapped. “You always this short?”
“I’m being clear,” she said.
Daniels pushed off the SUV and wandered closer, interest sharpening. “You know,” he said, voice dripping with that special kind of contempt, “most people cooperate better when they don’t act like they’re above it.”
The woman blinked once. “I’m not above it.”
Daniels tilted his head. “Could’ve fooled me.”
Johnson held the license loosely between two fingers. “Step off the bike.”
She did.
Johnson gestured toward the line painted on the road. “Walk.”
She paused, just a beat. “Is there a reason you suspect I’m impaired?”
Johnson’s eyes flashed. “Are you arguing with me?”
“I’m asking,” she said, still calm, still steady. “Because this is a checkpoint. If you’re detaining me for sobriety testing, that’s one thing. If you’re escalating beyond that, I’d like to know why.”