She lowered her window as a tall, khaki-dressed form filled the view in her side mirror.
“This seems familiar,” she said, her tone light, maybe a little flirtatious.
“You get pulled over a lot, huh?”
Lindsey immediately jerked her head and peered out the window, staring up at the cop who did not sound like Mike Santori. Didn’t look like him. Wasn’t him.
“Oh, no,” she mumbled, seeing a young, burly guy with a bit of a paunch and carefully coiffed, slightly slick, brown hair.
“You’re the new teacher, aren’tcha?”
Was it really her fate to never be called by her name again? Was everyone around here just going to call her “the new teacher” from now on?
“Yes,” she said. “Is there some problem.”
“How about you get out of the car?”
Oh, damn, that sounded serious. She racked her brain, trying to think of what she might have done. She could see a directional sign from here and knew she wasn’t on a one-way street this time. She was pretty sure she’d used her turn signal at the last stop sign, and had definitely come to a complete stop. She certainly hadn’t been speeding, not nearly comfortable enough with these narrow, windy roads to even consider it. So why on earth had he pulled her over?
“Miss?”
She reached for the door handle and opened it, stepping out. The big cop gestured her forward, pushing the door shut behind her. He then stayed there, not moving out of her way or stepping aside. He was so close his big, booted feet were only a few inches from hers. It was definitely a personal space invasion.
Her warning bells went off, as they always did around big men who used their size as an intimidation tactic. It seemed crazy to be tensing up and worrying about being alone with a uniformed cop on a sunny Sunday morning, a mile from a busy downtown area. It was broad daylight, and she was in the nicest place on the planet, according to Callie. But the truth was, she was decidedly uncomfortable, not just with this man’s proximity, but with his long, assessing stare.
“What’s the problem?” she asked again, crossing her arms over her chest, to which he was paying too-close attention. “I wasn’t speeding, was I?”
The guy pushed his hand into the waistband of his khaki pants and scratched his gut. “Nah.”
She tried to keep her annoyance in check. “Then what is it?”
“Just wanted to get a look-see.”
“A...what?”
“Heard you came over on the ferry in that bright yellow tree-hugger car. Figured I’d get an eyeful of ya.”
Wait. He’d pulled her over so he could see what she looked like? His expression—half interest, half cocky smirk—said he was entirely serious.
Annoyance segued to anger. “Are you telling me you pulled me over so you could check me out?”
“Yep.”
The situation had gone beyond unprofessional, verging on harassment. She understood they did things differently here, but this was still the United States, and no cop, anywhere, had the right to pull someone over merely to leer at them. Even Mike, as flirtatious as he’d been yesterday, had stopped her because she was going the wrong damn way.
But this guy? What a total creep.
He proved it with his next words. “You sure are a knockout. I like that red hair.”
“You had no right to pull me over.”
“Aww, don’t get hot under the collar. I was just being neighborly, wanted to welcome ya to Wild Boar.”
“Next time you decide to be neighborly, tip your hat when you pass me on the street,” she snapped, already turning to open her door. “And then keep on walking.”
He stepped between her and the car, blocking her exit. His eyes, set deep in his fleshy face, had narrowed. She didn’t imagine this bully-of-the-playground was used to anybody calling bullshit on his antics. But he quickly put that cocky smirk back on his face. “Well, cutie, there’s no call for that. You might be used to people being unfriendly-like where you come from, but this here’s a whole other world than what you’re used to.”
“No kidding. The world I come from would call this impropriety at the least, but more likely sexual harassment.”
This time not only did his smile fade and his eyes narrow, an angry flush crawled up his cheeks. “Now listen here...”
“What’s going on, Officer Dickinson?”
The barked question came from behind her, and Lindsey immediately swung around, relieved beyond measure to see the chief of police. Mike had pulled over across the street and approached, as quiet as a cat, his big body tense, his expression utterly serious. He cast a quick eye over her, gauging her mood, or making sure she was all right. Then he frowned at his officer. “Answer me.”